


Picture of a stranger

by paintedfences



Category: Unavowed (Video Game)
Genre: Alcoholism, Depression, Everybody hates Christmas, F/M, Found Family, Gen, Post-Canon, the whole gang - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:15:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25803481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintedfences/pseuds/paintedfences
Summary: ‘Hey, Mandana. What are you guys doing for Christmas?’ Vicki says as they pick their way through the underbrush. The trees are dripping, and though it’s December 10th there’s no sign of snow, just a wintry, driving rain that stings where it catches their faces.Does anyone actually *like* Christmas? One found family figuring out their own way through.
Relationships: Eli Beckett/Mandana
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	Picture of a stranger

‘Hey, Mandana. What are you guys doing for Christmas?’ Vicki says as they pick their way through the underbrush. The trees are dripping, and though it’s December 10th there’s no sign of snow, just a wintry, driving rain that stings where it catches their faces.

There have been reports of some unusual psychic energy which is causing the joggers and dog walkers and other early morning users of the park to psychically meld. Behind her and Vicki, Eli and Logan have fanned out in the long grass, scanning to see if they can pick up any echoes of magic, or any residue. A brief snatch of a carol whips by as a car passes along the road outside. 

Mandana glances at Vicki’s carefully averted face as she kicks through piles of wet, dripping leaves. She’s aware of Vicki’s increasingly desperate attempts to get back into any kind of contact with her family; and she can’t help thinking of the night some months ago when a couple of after-work cocktails had ended in Vicki downing tequila after tequila and eventually vomiting, and then crying all over her.   
  


Mandana pauses in her steps, and looks at Vicki. ‘We - well, we do not usually celebrate the holidays.’ 

‘Really? At all?’ Vicki looks at her curiously. ‘Why not?’

Mandana finds her eyes going to Eli and Logan; they are far enough away they cannot be overheard.

Vicki has followed her gaze, raises her eyebrows quizzically.

‘My father and I would always spend it together,’ she says, a little apologetically. ‘We would not decorate, or do the usual food, you understand - it is not a Jinn holiday. But we would walk out every day, watch the people, go to see the singers at the Rockefeller Centre - things like that.’ She smiles at the memories. ‘But Eli... finds it a difficult time of year. He does not partake.’

‘Ah.’ Vicki toes her sneaker in the ground, a little awkwardly. ‘I see. So you guys more or less just ignore it, carry on as usual?’ Though she tries to cover it, Mandana can hear the disappointment in her voice.

‘Well... not exactly.’ Mandana can’t help but check again that their friends are far away, and Vicki frowns. 

‘Mandana, spill. Yeesh, it’s just Christmas, not state secrets.’

‘It is a little sensitive.’ Mandana starts walking again, pushing through the trees and undergrowth, and Vicki follows her. They come out into a little glade, and Mandana looks up and around at the branches overhead. No sign of anything out of place. She sighs, and turns to Vicki. ‘Eli usually finds himself a project to work on around this time of year - something experimental that holds his attention. Then he takes a week or so off, and... we do not -’ a little flare of pain, and she corrects herself, ‘My father and I _did_ not usually see him for any meaningful amount of time again until before New Year’s Eve.’

‘So wait, he just holes himself up in the basement until it’s over?’ Vicki’s eyebrows have climbed into her hair. ‘And you _let_ him?’

She raises a shoulder, lets it fall. ‘I am not his keeper, Vicki. Just his friend.’ 

She ignores Vicki’s eye roll and muttered, finger-quoted, ‘ _friend_.’

‘And I _have_ tried. I did manage to get him to come out to eat with us once, on the day itself. More than anything, it made me feel…’ she drops her eyes, folds her arms against the memory. ‘Cruel.’ She looks at Vicki. ‘You must understand I - I would not hurt him for the world.’

Vicki is quiet a moment, but she looks at Mandana, pushes her damp hair back off her face. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise. I mean he’s been a little quiet, but…’

‘He will be fine,’ she says, and means it. ‘Let me talk to him about this year. I think... things are different now.’

There are shouts from behind them, a shockwave of magic rolls past them in a tingling rush, and then a flare of fire licks the treetops. As one, they both start to run.

***

They find a patch of scorched earth, and Eli helping Logan to his feet. They are both pale and shaken-looking, and automatically she goes to touch Eli’s arm, to check he is all right, but he steps back. ‘Careful - it hit us pretty hard. Could be catching with physical contact.’

‘How long will it last?’ Logan asks, folding his arms around himself, looking a little nauseous. ‘God this is weird. It’s like there’s two people in my head.’

‘Yeah,’ Eli says. ‘I’m pretty spinny myself. I think it’ll start fading quickly now they’re gone. Maybe twenty minutes?’ 

‘What the hell _was_ it?’ Vicki asks.

‘Goblins,’ Logan says, his mouth twisting with distaste. ‘A whole nest of ’em, feeding off the psychic distress. Eli scared them with the fireball and KayKay and I portaled them back to where they came from.’

‘Are you both all right?’ Mandana asks. ‘Do you need to rest?’

It’s strange seeing them converse with just a glance at each other, but then Eli says, ‘I think we’re okay to move out. But... you need to catch a meeting, Logan?’

Logan waves a hand. ‘It’s just something I do. Don’t worry about it.’

‘What..?’ Vicki starts, and Logan looks at them both, a little embarrassment in his face.

‘Sometimes when I’m tired, or you know, a little down or whatever I... kind of play a little scene out, in my head.’

‘You don’t have to-’ Eli starts, but Logan shrugs, shakes his head. 

‘It’s okay. It is what it is.’ He looks at Vicki and Mandana, holding their eyes. ‘I was imagining drinking again. I loop it in my head, like a movie. So like... I walk back to that liquor store we passed on our way here, I go in, look at the shelves behind the guy, I find the bottle I want and I pay for it. Then I go out onto the street, find a bench, sit down and I open it. And then it cuts back to the start, and I do it again.’

‘But _why_?’ Vicki sounds upset. ‘Why the hell would you do that to yourself?’

‘It doesn’t feel _bad_ ,’ Logan says. ‘Maybe it’s an anxiety thing, I don’t know. Like I said, it happens most when I’m tired.’

There doesn’t seem to be anything any of them can think of to say to that, so Eli clears his throat, pats Logan on the back, and says, ‘Come on. Let’s get out of here.’ As they start making their way back through the long grass, he adds, ‘How about we catch a meeting on the way home anyway. You want company?’

‘If you’re offering, sure.’

Walking a few paces behind them, Mandana sees Logan turn to look at Eli then, and ask quietly, ‘ _You_ okay?’

Eli shrugs. ‘ _Eh_. The time of year, you know?’

Logan nods, his head down, and Mandana hears him sigh. ‘Yeah. It does suck.’

***

Out on the street, Vicki pulls ahead to walk with Eli, and Mandana falls back beside Logan. The sidewalk is crowded, and the lights overhead are blinking everything from red and green to an icy, fantastical blue. 

‘Logan,’ she asks, ‘Did you have any plans for Christmas this year?’

‘I mean...' he shoots a glance at her. ‘Not really. Me and Jonah used to get together on the actual day, but now - well, now KayKay and I watch movies and make ourselves puke on Christmas candy, and then after the big day, I might see a few friends once everyone gets sick of being cooped up with the family for days.’ She nods, and after a few seconds he says, ‘Why, were you going to do something?’ unable to keep the hopeful note entirely from his voice. 

‘I was considering it,’ she says. 

‘Is that going to be all right with-’ he nods toward Eli, up ahead. Vicki has linked arms with him, and he is allowing her to pull him along, listening to her chatter, though he’s looking down at the sidewalk, as if watching where he puts his feet. 

‘Let me come back to you.’

***

The fire is blazing in the hearth; she turns her face to it, feels the heat of it with pleasure.

‘Nice?’ he asks, her feet in his lap, his thumb circling her ankle, then slipping down to press into the sole of her foot.

‘Mm,’ she says approvingly, and a little shock of pleasure darts up the inside of her thigh. She pushes off his hat and strokes her fingers through his sandy hair. He looks at her then and she knows he’s about to kiss her - and much as her body responds to that with a little burst of pleasure, she puts a hand on his cheek to stall him, and says, ‘May I ask you something?’

He sits back, his hands resting back on her calf, rubbing the tight muscle in little circles. ‘Sure.’

‘Would you mind if I invited Logan and Vicki to stay for the holidays?’

His fingers go still. ‘I was going to talk to you about that.’ He drops his eyes, watching his thumb on her skin. ‘With your dad... well, not with us any more, I wasn’t sure it was appropriate for me to, uh, bow out like I usually do.’

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and she just waits. ‘I just… I don’t want to be a selfish jerk about it, Mandy. What did you have in mind?’

‘I thought I would ask them to stay for a few days. Say perhaps from Christmas Eve to the day after? Nothing too much different; just us. But together.’

He nods. ‘That sounds nice.’ He’s quiet for a moment, and then asks, ‘...would you want me there?’

Of course she would; how can he even have to ask? But she can feel how tensely he’s holding himself, how he’s not meeting her eyes, and she knows that is not what he needs to hear right now. 

Instead of answering, she asks, ‘If nothing had changed, what would you want to do?’

‘Same as usual.’ He looks up at her then. ‘I’m sorry.’

She takes his hand, squeezes it. ‘Do not be.’

‘I can just…’ he sighs, and abruptly he looks tired, the shadows under his eyes seeming deeper. She suspects he has not been sleeping well. ‘I can already feel it coming on, and I just... I can’t be around people, Mandy, when I f- I mean, when it’s like that. I’m sorry.’

‘Stop apologising.’ She brushes his cheek, and he looks at her, giving her a wry little smile. 

‘Look - you have fun. Please. That would make me happy - to know you’re having fun.’ He squeezes her hand. ‘And I’ll try. I’m not promising anything, okay? But I’ll try to stick my head out, at least once.’ 

‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘That would be nice, if you can manage it.’ She strokes his hair again, and he goes back to rubbing her feet. 

And later, they fall into one another, as is happening more and more, recently, and it is wonderful, that rush of deep, warm pleasure, that feeling of being turned inside out. Afterward, twined together in his little bed, she kisses him deeply, slow - and wishes she could pluck the sadness out of him, like a thorn.

***

It is the 20th December, he’s barely said a word all morning, and now he is sitting on the floor of the study, surrounded by piles of books and a pad of paper covered in formulas that make her eyes swim. 

‘What is it this time?’ 

‘Spirit walking,’ he says, and rips a page out of his pad, scrunches it up and tosses it over his shoulder. ‘Aldin could leave his body at will. Just leave it laying there like a suit of clothes, and go walking. A bunch of other mages seem to be able to do it too. I figured it could be useful.’

‘Isn’t that dangerous?’ she asks, frowning.

‘Not if you know what you’re doing,’ he says, and flips a page.

***

December 19th, 1971

‘There is absolutely no way I am buying you a car for Christmas.’

‘Daaad. Come on.’ Julie spins on the high stool, at the counter where they’re perched with hamburgers. ‘Why not? I’m mature, I’m sensible.’

He’s smiling despite himself; when she wants something she puts her head on one side and gives him exactly the same look her mom always used to when _she_ wanted something. ‘You’re _fifteen_. You’ve got a year before you could even drive it. What would we do with it until then, use it as a lawn ornament?’ 

She wrinkles her nose at this, and picks an onion off her plate. ‘Well, Gloria wants a pony, so.’

He laughs. ‘Oh I’m well aware. Do you think she’s getting it? So, what? The pony will have the back yard - we’ll just turf poor ’ol Lola out of her kennel - and we’ll have your car in the front yard instead of the bird bath?’

‘I mean, we could just get a bigger house.’

‘I like our house fine,’ he says gently. 

He knows she’s not serious; sure their place is a little smaller than you’d expect - they’d always intended to trade up when the kids got bigger, but - then things changed. And now, every inch has a memory attached to it, every room a thousand moments that can be summoned like ghosts whenever he needs them. If he has his way, they’ll be carrying him out of that house feet-first.

She drops her eyes - clear blue, a little deeper than his - straightens her purse, lying by her plate, and looks away around at the diner at the other people.

He’s noticed this recently, this distance whenever he mentions her mother, even obliquely. He’s not really sure what it means, and he’s doubly unsure if he should ask her about it, or if she’d just totally clam up. _That’s_ pretty new too. 

‘It’s the age,’ Vera’d told him last week, winding a new sheet of paper into her typewriter before they got started on the Clark account. ‘She’s a young woman now, Eli. She’s not always going to tell you everything that’s on her mind.’

He supposes that’s true, though he also supposed he doesn’t have to _like_ it. Looking at her, her clear, observant eyes, her firm little jaw, he feels a rush of love for her, then sighs long and loud, like she’s defeated him in some gruelling battle of wills. ‘Okay, so no car. What about driving lessons?’

‘Really?!’ Her eyes light up when she sees he’s serious, and the delight all over her snub-nosed, freckled little face makes his heart ache. 

‘Really. I’ll take you out on Christmas morning, okay? You’ve got to be-’

‘-Sensible. I know, I know. But - yay!’ She claps her hands, leans over and gives him a hug. ‘Thanks, dad.’

‘How did you get so big, huh?’ It comes out of his mouth without conscious thought; something about her catches him so suddenly, right in the chest. ‘It’s like I looked away for a second, and you grew up.’

Her smile dims a little, and she shoots a sidelong glance at him, then looks away, down at her plate. 

‘Hey,’ he says, and touches her shoulder. ‘What is that? What am I saying wrong?’

‘It’s nothing,’ she says, but he stays quiet a minute and then says, ‘Come on, bug,’ and sure enough, the old nickname works its magic. 

‘It’s just...' she fiddles with the clasp on her purse, ‘I... I look so much like mom, and sometimes when you look at me now, I…’ he waits, and then it all comes out in a rush. ‘- I feel like I make you sad.’

‘ _You_ don’t make me sad,’ he says instantly. ‘What, _you_ ?’ He touches her arm, feels a faint pang she’s too old now to pick her up. ‘You make me _happy_ Julie. I look at you -’ his throat catches, and he swallows and says, ‘I look at you, and how beautiful you are - you _both_ are, every bit of you - and it just makes me so happy.’ 

Her eyes have filled with tears, and she looks away, blinking them back.

‘Do you remember your mom?’ he asks. He’s been too afraid to ask her that for years, but this isn’t about him, so he finds he can form the words. ‘It’s okay not to, by the way. You were only five.’

‘I... I don’t really remember _her_ much,’ she says, giving him a sidelong, guilty look. ‘But I remember things we did together. Like, the rocking chair in your room. I remember us sitting in it, and her singing to me, and trying to stick my fingers through the holes in the wicker.’

He smiles, even though his throat is aching. ‘You used to get so mad when we picked you up from your nap. She had to bring you in there and sing to you to stop you pitching a fit, every time.’

She laughs, and he laughs too, and then he says, ‘If I look sad hon, it’s not _you_. It’s just... you’re growing up on me, and I know -’ he swallows, but now his eyes are stinging ‘- and I know how much your mom wanted to watch that happen. I guess I’m just trying to see it for both of us.’

He coughs, puts a few notes down on the counter by their plates, and breathes out sharply. ‘Now. Will we get out of here? Don’t forget your violin.’

‘I’m not going to forget my violin,’ she grumbles, pushing herself down from the stool, picking up her case and following him. But as they get to his Chrysler - it’s a nice car, he permits himself a _little_ senior partner ego, so nice car, nice suit - she stops and looks at him. 

‘Are you really going to teach me to drive?’ 

‘Course I am,’ he says. ‘And next Christmas, when you’re actually sixteen and you’ve passed your test - then we’ll see about wheels, okay?’ 

Maybe it’s okay to spoil her, now and again. What else are dads for, anyway? 

She gives a small yip of joy, flings her arms around him, and then because it seems that actually he _is_ still allowed to, he picks her up and squeezes her.

He never does get to Christmas 1972.

***

‘We’re heeeere,’ Vicki’s shout through the open door could come from no-one else. ‘Mandana! Where the hell are you?’

‘I am right here,’ she says, coming out of the study and holding the door open as they pull their bags in out of the rain. ‘You do not need to make such a production out of it.’

‘I’m _announcing_ us,’ Vicki says, and looks at Logan. ‘Logan brought _Monopoly_.’

‘Uh, actually,’ Logan says, pulling a box with the word _Trollgate_ scrolled across it in lurid pink writing out of a bag. ‘KayKay had a better idea. Huh? Okay, okay - she says it’s a D&D powered, tabletop roleplaying game. And apparently it takes at least two days to run a game with any kind of satisfactory conclusion to it.’

‘ _What the hell_ ?’ Vicki trails after him into the study. ‘Aw, man - what’s wrong with _Monopoly_ ? I had dibs on the car! And I hate all that swords-and-sorcery-magicky-wagicky-crap. It’s bad enough they play _Lord of the goddamn Rings_ on repeat all Christmas now.’

Logan puts down his bags, folds himself into a chair and says, laughing, ‘Vicki, where do you _work_?’

‘Well it doesn’t mean I have to _like_ it!’

Mandana takes the box, and looks at the back, her interest piqued. ‘There is a pirate class?’

‘Yep,’ Logan says. ‘And it goes all the way up to level 99.’ 

‘I brought somethin‘ too,’ Vicki says. A little awkwardly, she reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out...

‘Is that... a beanie baby?’ Logan says, staring at the small, brown, vaguely dog-like thing. 

‘The jacket and pants,’ Vicki says, and holds it up. ‘Who does it look like?’

‘Oh,’ Mandana says, and abruptly, her eyes fill with tears. ‘You brought Melkhiresa.’

Vicki’s eyes are glittering too, but she’s smiling, and she sets the little dog down on the coffee table. ‘Well. I saw it, and I thought - it wouldn’t be right without Mel.’

Mandana hugs her, and then she feels Logan’s arms come around them both, and a faint tingle of static from KayKay.

She lets go, and takes a second to turn her back, wipe her eyes. 

‘Hey, Mandy,’ She looks around to Logan, his arm still slung around Vicki’s shoulders, both of them looking at her. ‘How’s our fire mage doing?’

She lifts a shoulder, lets it fall. ‘He is working. It is what he wants.’

***

Logan’s come into the kitchen to get some Chex mix and candy popcorn Mandana says are in the top cupboard by the sink; he doesn’t expect Eli to be standing at the counter making a peanut butter sandwich. His shirt and pants are rumpled, he’s hatless and tieless, and his feet are bare.

‘Uh, hey.’

Eli jumps, looks round at him, then goes back to what he’s doing. ‘Oh. Hey.’

Logan goes over to where the bowls are kept, and takes out two - he’s not one of those sickos that mix salt and sweet in the same bowl, though he’d bet his last dime Vicki Santina is. 

He rummages in the cupboard for the snacks, and asks, as Eli cuts his sandwich, then adds the jar of peanut butter and a spoon to his plate, ‘So... how you doing?’

‘Oh, well.’ Eli waves the spoon in the air, his eyes distant and distracted, ‘I’m trying for four dimensions, but I keep getting stuck at three. I can’t seem to get the math right, I don’t know. I’m missing something.’

‘Not what I meant, but okay.’

‘Yeah.’ Eli sighs, ‘I know.’ He winces slightly as Vicki’s garrulous laugh floats in from the study, then pauses. He’s not looking at him. ‘Look, would you mind not mentioning this? Much as I love Vicki, I don’t think I can handle Santina-level-exuberance right now.’

‘My lips are sealed.’ Logan stacks both bowls in one hand, and touches the other to Eli’s shoulder, tries to look into his face. ‘You all right though?’

‘I’m all right, I’m _all_ _right_ ,’ Eli avoids his eyes and slaps his back, slipping out from under his hand, and heading to the door. ‘Catch you later.’

‘Later,’ says Logan, and watches him go. 

***

The first thing she did when she wakes up on Christmas morning in Mel’s old room is to send a Christmas text to each member of her family, keeping it light. All a variation on _Hey, happy Christmas! staying with some friends this year, hope you’re all good? Hit me up soon? Xx_

What she really wants to do is call her mom’s cell, but the thought of hearing that dial tone ring out and out and out makes her want to wind her fists back and take a few hard fuckin’ shots at the wall. Instead, she limits herself to checking her phone every two or three hours.

After breakfast - cream cheese and lox bagels from the deli next door, with mimosas for her and Mandana, straight OJ for Logan, and some of Eli’s fancy filter-press coffee - the rain has - not _stopped_ , exactly, but it’s died down to a fine, misting spray that doesn’t throw out the idea of a walk down to the Rockefeller Centre.

Logan insists on asking some poor woman to take a picture of them all with the tree in the background, and Vicki sticks Mel up on her shoulder and pulls a face as the woman takes the shot.

Then she sees some old guy in a fedora and well-cut fawn coat pushing through the crowd next to them and yells ‘Wait, wait!’

She pushes over to him and grabs his arm ‘’Scuse me? ’Scuse me sir?’

‘Er, hello?’ he says in a British accent.

‘Uh, sorry to ask you sir, but I wondered if you could take a picture with my friends and me? We’re one down, our friend couldn’t come, and you kinda look like him.’ 

‘I mean, maybe if you’re _blind,_ ’ she hears Logan mutter, but she ignores him and focus on giving the tourist her best ‘Christmas in New York, isn’t it wild,’ smile.

‘Uh…’ the old guy looks at the grey haired lady with him, who flaps her purse at him and says ‘Oh, go on, Jeremy.’

Vicki whoops, and pulls him over to the rest of the group, yelling ‘I found an Eli, I found an Eli!’ She puts the Mel doll on her shoulder, and shoves the guy in between her and Logan for the picture.

When they’ve got it, she gives him a big smooch on the cheek and says ‘You sir, are a gentleman,’ and he laughs as he walks away.

Later, they play some more table-top _Trollgate_ , and she has to say, she’s getting into it, though Logan - he’s blaming KayKay, but she’s pretty sure he’s lying - is incredibly anal about the rules. (’Just because you’ve got six arms Vicki, that does _not_ mean you get six rolls.’)

They watch a Christmas movie on Logan’s laptop - KayKay’s choice, as the only resident kid, and then it’s starting to get dark, and Mandana stretches and says ‘Shall we order some food?’

‘Ooooh - _nice_ ,’ Logan says. ‘Can we go spicy? I feel like I want my mouth to _burn_.’

Vicki takes a quick glance at her phone. No messages, the screen is dark and empty - and something in her seems to boil over.

She stands up sharply. ‘I’m gonna go talk to him.’

Out in the practice room, she hammers on the thick wooden door. ‘Hey, Eli! Open up! We’re ordering food!’ It doesn't budge. But Vicki Santina is nothing if not persistent.

A while later, when her knuckles are sore, and her throat hurts from yelling, she feels Mandana put a hand on her shoulder. Abruptly, she feels her eyes sting. 

‘Do not take it personally,’ Mandana says. ‘I have been knocking on that particular door for forty-five years.’

She sniffs, and Mandana puts her arms around her. ‘I just - I fuckin’ _hate_ closed doors.’

‘I know,’ says Mandana, and pats her on the back.

Later, while she’s eating her spicy noodles, her phone pings and it’s Donnie. ‘Hey big sis! Happy turkey day! Busy right now so can’t talk, but how about I call you tomorrow? Xx’

She can imagine him firing it off it under the table, furtively - like he’s committing a crime.

***

The next morning, Vicki is lying on the couch with her phone, indulging in a little consumption of mindless internet crap, when Eli comes in. 

She sits up instantly. ‘Hey!’

He’s in pajamas and bathrobe, and he sways and holds a hand up to his head and makes a delicate sound of pain. ‘ _Loud_.’

‘Ohhh no,’ she says, half sympathetic, half distracted by the novelty of seeing him in anything but shirt, tie, and trenchcoat. ‘Did some asshole in an 18 wheeler run over your head?‘

He makes another pained sound, and stumbling over to the cabinet where the liquor is, focuses on her with an effort, and croaks, ‘Where’s Logan?

‘Making breakfast with Mandana.’

He nods, then closes his eyes and touches his forehead with a look of such regret she can’t help smirking, though she feels bad. Rummaging, he finds a little bottle of tomato juice, dumps it into a glass, tops it with a few fingers of vodka and stirs it. 

‘Kill or cure,’ he mutters, and downs half of it, then stands very, very still for a few moments. For a second she thinks he’s going to throw up, but then he breathes out, and bringing the glass with him, comes over to flop down on the couch next to her with his eyes tight shut.

‘No wizard cure for hangovers then, huh?’ 

‘Uh-uh.’ 

He doesn’t seem capable of much more, so she asks, ‘Want some Tylenol? I have some in my purse.’

He makes a noise in the affirmative, and she goes and gets the bottle, presses it into his hand. He shakes out a couple, swallows them with the rest of his drink and props his chin up on his elbow, closing his eyes.

She’s sure he’s fallen asleep, so his voice when it comes almost startles her. ‘Did you guys -’ he yawns, ‘- have fun?’

‘Yeah.’ To her surprise, she had. Who knew play-acting being a six-armed Elf assassin who hucks throwing knives could be fun? ‘We did actually.’

‘’S good,’ he says.

She stays silent a few seconds, then says, ‘We missed you, though.’

‘Sorry,’ he sighs, without opening his eyes, and lays his head back against the back of the couch. Vicki reaches out and pulls him over, encouraging his head onto her shoulder, and pats him on the cheek. 

‘Don’t worry,’ she says. ‘You might be nuts, but we love you.’

***

December 25th, 2016

‘Seeing anyone at the moment?’ Jonah looks over at him while he’s pouring the batter into the waffle iron, looking rumpled and out of place in his neat little kitchenette.

‘Uhhh, no actually. Not for a while now.’ Logan adds a dusting of cinnamon and sprinkles brown sugar on top of the batter - he would walk through fire for the taste of burnt sugar on the roof of his mouth - then closes the iron, moves it back as a cloud of fragrant steam hisses up.

‘Huh. My little brother the monk.’

‘ _Monk_ ,’ he mutters, a little annoyed, but conscious of the little tree he’s carefully decorated, the day that it is, tries not to let it get under his skin. He’s an adult damn it, and if he wants to do normal adult things like put up a damn tree and some fairy lights and invite his brother round for virgin egg nog and Christmas waffles, then he’s going to.

Jonah’s always had this thing about him being the sensible one, the capable one - even when they had that little apartment together and Logan woke up puking his guts out every morning, hugging his clenching stomach while his throat burned and his eyes stung. Still the jokes about his library card, his bus pass, his senior citizen discount. No matter how hard he partied. No matter how many girls he took home. No matter how many _guys_. 

He doesn’t regret it, exactly. It’s just he thinks about that person and doesn’t know who the hell he was, what the hell he was trying to find in it all.

It’s somehow important to Jonah that Logan doesn’t step out of this box he’s created for him - and that's been bothering him, more and more. It bothers _him_ that his brother’s not sober - and in his opinion Jonah really needs to be - but he’s tried two times now, so now he just leaves it, and compromises on only seeing him when he’s 100% sure he’s sober. 

From his point of view, he’s doing everything right; he’s at the other end of the phone for Jonah whenever he needs him, but he makes no demands. He IMs him interesting or funny stuff he sees that makes him think of him. He hits him up to get together _at least_ once a month. And yet, every time, he gets this passive aggressive undercurrent.

A _monk_. It irritates him enough that as he’s opening the waffle iron and prising the crisp, golden waffles from the hot plate and placing them onto the red - slightly tacky, but also kinda cute - Christmas tree platter on the kitchen counter, he finds himself taking the bait. ‘How am I a monk, exactly?’

‘Oh, you know,’ Jonah twirls a hand, indicating his white painted, neat little studio, the cookbooks and hanging herb garden on the kitchen wall. ‘Meditation, kettlebells once a week, yoga in the morning - _plants_ .’ He says ‘plants’ like someone else might say ‘shit,’ and for some reason, that fucking _stings_.

‘I’m not allowed plants?’ Logan asks evenly, dusting the waffles with icing sugar and sliding them into the middle of the breakfast bar, switching off the stove and taking the opposite perch to Jonah.

‘Oh you’re _allowed,_ ’ Jonah says. ‘I’m just wondering why going through AA had to turn you into a fucking robot, though.’

Logan makes himself reach out to take one of the waffles and slide it onto his plate, though his heart is beating too loud and hard, and he’s really isn’t hungry any more.

‘I don’t know if you remember, Jonah,’ he says slowly, ‘But your shtick was always how boring I was. So I don’t know why you’re surprised that sober me is still boring.’

He looks at Jonah then, and the look on his brother’s face hurts him more than anything he might have said; the contempt in the twist of his mouth.

‘I don’t know who you _are,_ man,’ Jonah says, and waves a hand at the table. ‘Al this? Like you opened a catalogue and picked out a bunch of stuff labelled ‘normal’ and decided that’s your life now. It's all stuff you’re _supposed_ to like. I just don’t get who you’re trying to be.’

His throat is aching; funny how family can always press your buttons - just skewer you with a look and a few words.

‘I guess I don’t really know either,’ he says. ‘And, I-’ he has to swallow to stop his voice cracking. ‘I’m sorry if that’s uncomfortable for you to watch. But, the way we grew up-’

He stops, and he can feel Jonah tense, opposite him - they don’t talk about that. About any of it really, unless both of them are brutally, darkly, skull-fucked-hammered. And that doesn’t happen any more - so.

He breathes out, and continues. ‘The way we grew up, I think I always _wanted_ boring, and I never got it. I just want -‘ his eyes sting, and it’s from hurt that he’s been so transparent, and hurt that Jonah can look at all of the work that he’s done - and it _is_ work, it’s hard, _hard_ fucking work, every day, every fucking _hour_ to keep himself on an even keel, to keep himself _feeling_ normal, _acting_ normal - and find something contemptible in it.

‘Damn, Logan.’ Jonah says, and reaches out to grab his hand, there on the breakfast bar between them, still clutching the fork. ‘I get it. You want Christmas sweaters and cinnamon waffles. You don’t have to cry about it.’

Logan turns his hand over under Jonah’s so they’re palm to palm, and rubs a hand over his eyes. 

‘Mister sensitive,’ mutters Jonah chidingly, and cuffs him roughly around the back of the neck.

***

‘Look out, look out, walking wounded coming through!’ Vicki yells, and looking around, Logan sees her steering a very shaky-looking Eli into the kitchen.

‘ _Loud_ ,’ he throws poisonously at Vicki as he sits down at the table, and she says ‘Awww,’ ignoring his wince, and ruffling his hair.

‘Coffee?’ Logan asks, taking in the way his hands shake as he puts his head in them. 

Eli makes a sound of grateful assent, and slides over his mug. There’s a little guilt, a little discomfort in his eyes as he briefly meets Logan’s when he takes the cup back. ‘Thank you.’ 

Logan half-smiles in return, says, ‘Must have been some killer math,’ to let him know to chill - someone else’s hangover doesn’t raise call up anything for him but sympathy.

‘Haha,’ Eli says with a lick of sarcasm, and then looks around, confused. ‘Where’s Mandy?’

‘Out getting a few herbs from the cold frame.’

Eli frowns. If Logan had to bet, he’d say he’s in that slow, fuzzy, not-legal-to-drive-yet phase before the real solid pain kicks in. ‘We... have one of those?’

‘Yup,’ Logan says, and Vicki asks, ‘What’s a ‘cold frame’?’

‘It’s a… glass. Box. You keep vegetables in.’ Eli says, swooping down gratefully on his cup of coffee.

Vicki’s brow wrinkles. ‘What, like a fridge? In the yard?’

‘Yes,’ Eli says, at the same time as Logan says ‘ _No_ ,’ and Vicki looks at them both like they’re nuts.

Logan goes over and pats Eli gently on the back, ‘Name the beast,’ he says. ‘Got to know what we’re dealing with here, and then I can fix you right up.’

‘Bourbon,’ Eli says, and shudders. ‘And rye.’ 

Logan winces. ‘Oooh. Okay. French toast it is.’

With his back turned, elbow deep in a mixing bowl, Logan hears ‘You always bring your stuffed animal on sleepovers?’, and after Vicki’s answering murmur, an ‘Oh.’

‘Ah, Beckett,’ he hears Vicki say, ‘Don’t look like that,’ and then the scrape of chair legs on the floor and the sound of her vigorously slapping him on the back.

***

Mandana comes back into the kitchen with handfuls of chives and parsley, and is surprised and pleased to see Eli at the kitchen table, listening as Vicki and Logan chat back and forth while Logan cracks eggs into a skillet. 

She puts the herbs down on the counter, and goes to sit next to Eli, pulling her chair up close to his. She’s less pleased by how ill and pale he looks, but quietly she touches his face, turns it to hers, and seeing a wash of competing emotions in his eyes, she slips her hand into his under the table, and holds it.

***

He is quiet all through breakfast, watching them with his chin on one hand, though when Logan asks how the project went he says, ‘Not done yet. Got this far though,’ folds his arms on the table, puts his head down on them, and goes limp. 

In the middle of the table, a teaspoon flips up into the air, then abruptly falls back down again, and then he rocks back in his chair, clutching his head.

‘ _Ow_.’

‘KayKay says nice job,’ Logan says. ‘She liked the little flip.’

He almost smiles. ‘I can only hold it for a few seconds. Can’t seem to get any further than that.’

‘It is progress,’ Mandana says, touching his arm, meaning it in more ways than one.

***

He won’t play a character in _Trollgate_ , but despite insisting on holding a glass of cold orange juice to his temple, he accepts being their Loremaster, and dutifully reads passages from the thick manual when Logan as Dungeon Master asks him to, Mel propped up on the arm of the couch next to him.

As the game goes on, though, his eyes start to close more and more frequently, and eventually he scrubs his hand across his eyes and sits forward. ‘I’ve gotta go back to bed. Sorry kiddos.’

‘Awww,’ Vicki looks crestfallen, and he half-smiles. 

Standing, he looks at them both, though Mandana can see how difficult the eye-contact is for him, and says, ‘It was - it was really nice seeing you.’ 

Then he leans down to press a courtly little peck to Vicki’s cheek - the look on her face makes Mandana want to laugh - and turns to Logan, puts his hand out to shake. Logan stands, looking amused, and shakes Eli’s hand. And then he smiles, shaking his head, and says, ‘What the hell are you doing, Eli? Get in here,’ and pulls him in tightly against his body, wrapping his arms around him.

Mandana sees Eli go rigid, startled and blinking, and then Logan says - over his head, because he’s got four inches on Eli - ‘ _Hug me back_ , Eli.’ 

Eli’s hands come slowly around Logan’s back, and then abruptly his face changes and he presses it into Logan’s shoulder. His shoulders hitch, and then shudder. Logan swoops a hand over his back, murmurs, ‘I know, buddy. I know.’

‘Fuck it.’ Vicki stands up. ‘I’m getting in on this.’ She launches herself at them, her eyes wet, and burrows herself into Eli’s back, putting her face in his robe. Logan’s hand comes down to stroke her hair.

Mandana stays sitting in her chair by the fire, and in that instant, watching them - her friends, the people she loves - she misses her father so intensely that tears spring to her eyes, spilling over before she can wipe them away. But with the sadness is happiness too, something that aches inside her chest, an overflow like a waterfall.

***

‘You’re still here?’ When he resurfaces three hours later, Eli looks better, though still pale and a little shaky.

‘Well, yeah,’ Vicki says, looking up over the couch at him, pausing the movie they’re watching - _It’s a Wonderful Life_. ‘We’re here until Tuesday.’

‘Is it... not Tuesday?’ he asks, frowning, coming over to sit down beside Mandana.

‘Monday, bud,’ says Logan, and Eli scrubs his hands across his face. ‘Oh. Okay. Well, carry on then.’

Vicki restarts the movie, and after a minute says, ‘Hey Eli, anyone ever tell you you remind them of Jimmy Stewart?’

Logan rolls his eyes, raises his palm to the sky. ‘It’s just anyone in a hat to you, isn’t it? You show him that picture yet? He’s gonna be _pissed_.’

‘What picture?’ Eli says, and slides his arm unobtrusively around Mandana’s shoulders, pulling her back against his side. She puts her head on his shoulder, and says, smiling, ‘Ah. Wait until you see.’


End file.
